Cannibal
by Ms. Unusual-in-Groovy-Ways
Summary: I really hate what I am. Ever since she - the only girl I ever loved - left me for him - the man with no loving bone in his body - I have turned into what I fear the most: a monster. Feautues dark!Beast and Kesha.


**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! It's as simple as that.**

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><p>AN: I love Beast. I just do. I mean, he's smart, cute, talented, shy, tall, and is wicked smart (I'm a sucker for knowledgeable guys). So I'm writing this story for my blue baby. You see, no-one, I think, has shown Hank's struggle with accepting who he is now. Like, if he was self-conscious about having monkey feet, how does he feel about being blue, hairy, and kind of like a big cat?

So that's basically the story. Oh, and sorry the timeline mix up – you'll see what I'm talking about later – but hey! It's fanfiction. What, you're gonna sue me for adding a modern song? Just use your imagination and think that iPods existed back then.

Please R&R,

~Ms. Unusual-in-Groovy-Ways

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><p><em><strong>Cannibal<strong>_

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><p>(Hank's P.o.V.)<p>

A mass of golden light greets me in the wee hours of the morning, seeping out of the cracks in the blinds, its dazzling radiance disturbing my less than peaceful slumber. The warmth of the beam is inviting and almost calm but my new body seems to enjoy the cold, air-conditioned laboratory better.

I flip over to my left, away from the window and its happy-go-lucky spirit, but I'm already awake. Suddenly, my super-sensitive ears hear Alex and Sean all the way down in the kitchen, probably making a mess and they are _so_ going to blame me for it when Charles finds out. I understand that they're trying to make breakfast for me and the Professor to make up for that prank the pulled yesterday – which involved chickens, a flamethrower, and a innocent little grandmother.

Kiss-asses.

"Be careful, you idiot!" I hear Alex say testily. "Hank isn't going to eat if that looks like a piece of burnt shit!"

I shift in my bed so that I may get up, but I freeze in an upright sitting position when I hear my name.

"It is fine and looks great," says Sean. "Wait, do you mean that the Professor would eat it and not Hank? Why?"

"Bozo isn't depressed, you bozo."

"Well, he kind of is. So I suggest that _you_ start cooking the bacon while _I_ finish up the pancakes because _you're_ doing nothing."

"Let me cook the pancakes, Sean. I don't think even Charles can eat what's in _that_ pan."

"Hey!"

"Look dude, Charles can't cook to save his life, so he's accustomed to nasty food. But not even guys like me – who have guts of steal – or Erik – who's just plain tough and can scare the living shit out of my wicked-witch of a grandma – can handle your burnt, experimentation food."

"Don't say that word, you moron!" Judging by the angry yet frightened tone of his voice and the faint sound of his spastic heartbeat (that's how strong my ears are), I can tell Sean's upset – in both sense of the word. "You know how they get when they hear it!"

"Dude, I told you already, just because Charles cries like a little, depressed girl who lost her boyfriend and Hank goes all Beast on us when I say 'Erik Lehnsherr' doesn't mean that I'll shut up. They just need to grow a pair."

I zone out of the conversation after that. I'm not troubled at fact that Alex is a jackass, or that the scorched smell of chocolate pancakes is causing me to nearly gag; I'm just saddened at the fact that Summers does not even own the decency to respect our beloved teacher. Yeah, not caring about me hurts too but I'm a big boy - I can take care of myself. But not caring about the man who, although he's not much older than any of us (except Sean, of course), treats us like his very own sons is a sin and a sin only in my book. Plus, the nickname "Beast" is getting on my nerves.

I finally get out of bed (it's not like I can stay there forever…or can I?) and head lazily towards the bathroom. But as I make my slow way there, I stop in front of the mirror and look at my reflection.

The image depicts a six-foot-four-inches bear or cat thingy that is covered in blue hair. He's wearing just a pair of pajama pants because the shirt didn't fit him correctly. His hands are larger than anyone else's and are clawed; they're made for hunting. His bare feet are fluffy with fur and are also clawed. And, alas, nothing about the mutant gets better. His face, which blue but has little hair, although he does have whiskers, is sad and pained. His eyes are brown and have no glint of either happiness or joy.

He is just a sad puppy.

And I'm that sad puppy.

I look away quickly because the reflection mocks me and all the shame and faults. It makes me think of my past and how _I_ could have been better…how I could fixed everything…how I could of made everything right…how I could have had her.

I shake my head in denial. Everything happens for a reason and while I can't see it, it's there. I just suck it up and be…and be mutant and proud.

I enter the bathroom (finally) and before I take a shower, I turn to my iPod dock and put the MP3 on shuffle. Maybe music can help the bloody, rotten thoughts leave…or at least distract me….

_Rawr!_

_I have a heart, I swear I do  
>But just not, baby, when it comes to you<br>I get so hungry  
>When you say you love me<br>Hush, if you know what's good for you_

Oddly enough, Ke$ha – of all people in this wacky, fucked up world - makes me think while take my shower.

I do have a heart, but this body makes me give the impression of being a monster. I'm lucky – if I can use the word appropriately in my situation – that I am not quite social and do not depend on a lot human companionship because I wouldn't be able to live right now.

Sometimes, I am terrified that Charles will recruit more mutant students (it's only us four right now) because I'm afraid that I'll use control of my new, thin-skinned temper and hurt someone. I'd be horrified if I harm an innocent child who comes Professor Xavier's to safe and I just cause him uncertainty.

_I think you're hot, I think you're cool  
>you're the kind of guy I'd stalk in school<br>But now that I'm famous  
>you're up my anus<br>Now I'm gonna eat you, fool_

I kind of wish that I was either cool or hot like Alex or as suave and Gene Kelly-like as Charles (he can't dance though) rather than awkward like me. I would even enjoy being as goofy and childish as Sean is because it's almost _cute_ the way he is so carefree! I'd be either one of them because they're all chick magnets. I got one in my entire and I blew it. I made her hideous about herself when she's just so…so…there isn't even a word for how _perfect_ she is!

_I eat boys up  
>Breakfast and lunch<br>Then when I'm thirsty  
>I drink their blood<br>Carnivore, animal  
>I am a cannibal<br>I eat boys up  
>You better run<em>

_I am cannibal_  
><em>I am cannibal<em>  
><em>I'll eat you up<em>  
><em>I am cannibal<em>  
><em>I am cannibal<em>  
><em>I'll eat you up<em>

I have told anyone this before, but I've been craving meat. It is a little unnatural for me since I am not a huge fan of meat. I've never really liked it because it would get stuck it my teeth and it was hard to chew. But now, my teeth are much, much bigger and are designed for the consumption of flesh. It, once again, frightens me because what if I lose control and bite one of my friends? I would never live with myself inflicted even more pain to them, especially Charles.

_Whenever you tell me I'm pretty  
>that's when the hunger really hits me<br>your little heart goes pitter patter  
>I want your liver on a platter<em>

I get out of the shower and head towards my room, but, before I do, I instinctively shake my head – similar to a dog or, to my pure hatred, a puppy. I go to my room and look through my drawers for something to wear. The drawer is split into two sides – one for the clothes that actually fit me (but didn't when I was "normal" because they were too big) and the other for the ones that didn't.

_Use your finger to stir my tea  
>and for dessert I'll suck your teeth<br>be too sweet, and you'll be a goner  
>Yep, I'll pull a Jeffrey Dahmer<em>

After I get I'm dressed, I walk towards my lab, to shut myself in my work until Charles practically drags me out for dinner (I'm not a fan of lunch). But I hear Sean's incredibly loud voice, yelling:

"Hank, come down and eat something!"

I groan at the fact that I need to interact with people while I am in _this_ state of mind. To cheer myself up, I sing, lightly under my breath, the rest of _Cannibal_.

_I eat boys up  
>Breakfast and lunch<br>Then when I'm thirsty  
>I drink their blood<br>Carnivore, animal  
>I am a cannibal<br>I eat boys up  
>You better run<em>

_I am cannibal_  
><em>I am cannibal<em>  
><em>I'll eat you up<em>  
><em>I am cannibal<em>  
><em>I am cannibal<em>  
><em>I'll eat you up<em>

_Oh ooh whoa oh  
>oh ooh whoa oh<br>oh ooh whoa oh  
>oh ooh whoa oh<br>oh ooh whoa oh  
>oh ooh whoa oh<br>Oh ooh whoa oh  
>Oh ooh whoa oh<em>

_I am cannibal  
>I am cannibal<br>I'll eat you up  
>I am cannibal<br>I am cannibal  
>I'll eat you up<em>

_I love you  
>I warned you<br>Rawr!_

I walk into the room to see Alex, Sean, and Charles talking animatedly with each other, acting like the past month never happened. It…it sort of makes me want to join them and be as lighthearted and smiling, but my self-confidence has never allowed me to be…well…_me_.

"Hank, my boy, sit down," says Charles happily, his thousand-watt smile shining brilliantly. "Sean and Alex made breakfast."

I cannot help but laugh at the face Xavier makes. It's a mixture of fake delight and the face you make when you are about to retch.

"Sure," I say as sit down next to Sean, who was grinning smugly. "What's for breakfast?"

Sean and Alex start to talk enthusiastically over one another and they are truly proud of themselves for making brunch without setting the kitchen, food and/or each other on fire (we are proud actually). Charles laughs and beams throughout the entire time, perfectly taking pleasure in our "motley crew" version of dysfunctional family. We all laugh when Alex finally tastes his cooking and when he spits it out automatically, his stomach churning and virtually crying.

It's moments like these when I forget my own petty problems. It's times like these when I blissful and content with my life. It's periods exactly like these when I'm fine being Henry "Hank" McCoy…

…When I'm fine with being Beast.

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><p><em><strong>THE END<strong>_


End file.
